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"She's beautiful," said Ivar. "Ma, is it shallow if I ask you to make sure my bride is as beautiful as Addie, Nell, and Rosalind? Is that what your friends call you, Rosalind? Or do you have a nickname like Rosie or Rosa? Or Lin?"

The kid was overwhelming. But not the same as Gunnar. Gunnar and I hadn't spoken this many words to each other this weekend.

"It's Rosalind," I confirmed.

"Can I call you Rosie?"

"No."

"Ivar, go wash up for dinner," said Fenrir.

Mei Ling walked over to me, her presence warm and imposing all at once. She pressed a palm-sized rectangle into my hand. "Your mother gave this to me after the ceremony, dear. You left it behind at the wedding. We didn't want to disturb the two of you this weekend."

I'd left my phone behind on purpose. I'd gotten a thrill out of making my mother wait. My fingers brushed against the familiar glass screen of my phone. "I should probably give her a call, let her know I survived and that my husband hasn't taken me out to the woods and offed me."

Not a peep from the parents. But Gunnar's index finger twitched at my back. Did he get the joke, or was he annoyed with me? Funny, I'd never cared about a man's feelings before.

"You must be starving. I'll get dinner started."

"She's well-fed, Ma. I've been taking care of her."

"That's my good boy," Mei Ling said.

I could hear the clear smile and fierce pride woven into her voice as she spoke to him. A strange twinge tightened in my chest. It was something dangerously close to envy. My own mother had never spoken to me with that kind of unearned warmth.

I pressed the power button. The screen lit up beneath my thumb. The device hadn't even fully loaded before it began to vibrate violently in my hand, the ringtone cutting through the room.

I glanced at the screen, my breath hitching. "Excuse me," I murmured, stepping away toward the quiet of the hallway and out of the earshot of the Blackwood wolves.

"Did you get what I needed?"

Sorsha didn't waste a second on pleasantries. She didn't ask how I was, if I was safe, or how the weekend had gone. Her voice came through the speaker, crisp, cold, and demanding.

Annoyance flared hot in my veins, instantly burning away the lingering softness of the last forty-eight hours. The cozy bubble of the weekend popped, leaving the cold weight of reality in its place. I remembered why I was here. I remembered the crown on my head and the mission on my shoulders.

"Yes, Mother," I replied, my tone dropping into a smooth, unreadable flat line. "I have the names."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GUNNAR

If there was one thing the Blackwoods were known for, it was keeping our word. I'd told Rosalind I wasn't coming near her again, and I hadn't. Not sexually, anyway.

It was one hell of a concession for a man with my libido. I'd even come to bed both nights wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants instead of sleeping naked like I had my entire adult life. During the day, I kept my hands where they belonged. Her elbow when I guided her. The small of her back when there was a step or a turn ahead. Nowhere else.

Every time one of those ridiculous pink dresses swished past me, I wanted to flip up the skirts, spread her thighs, and check the damage I'd done. I needed to know she'd healed. That there wasn't still bruising or blood or some other injury she'd decided not to tell me about.

Rosalind hadn't complained. She hadn't said much of anything. She sat quietly while I worked out. Ate whatever I put in front of her. Let me show her around the house and grounds. Most of what I'd gotten out of her all weekend was please, thank you, and the occasional question.

She wasn't giving me the silent treatment. Rosalind just didn't seem to need words filling every empty space. Neither did I. Turned out I liked that.

Now, her faint voice drifted down the hall. I couldn't make out her words, but her tone had gone stiff. Just another confirmation that my wife didn't particularly like her mother.

"How are you?"

I looked down at my mother. "Fine."

"How was your wedding night?"